Feeling
by CrossfadeSoldier
Summary: And it hurt to know that he was his enemy. It really, truly did.


**A/N: Alright, to be fair, this is somewhat half-assed and for that I am sorry. It's probably littered with errors and it gets quite off topic at some point (at least I think so) and all that. But, for once, I'm proud of my work because, while it's semi half-assed, I haven't been able to finish writing something in a long while and it's my first finished attempt to do so. So, don't be too harsh, I've got to get used to it again.**

**Also, the story is dedicated to Lukeprism, one of my favorite writers and a friend of mine.**

**Alright, that's it! Crane out.**

* * *

Nothing.

That would be the word to describe his surroundings.

It's dark, yet light and a mix of colors, yet blank. It's not a black void, that would be something, would it not? It's a mix of everything and nothing and there's no way to describe it other than an eternal limbo, nothing, a personal hell.

But then again, it is his fault he's here, in this nothingness. Cold and lonely and- dear god, where is his brother in moments like this? His eyes burned with uncertainty and heart heavy with the weight of what he supposed was his own death. Foolish and naïve, he was, almost annoyingly so. He was the older twin, supposed to be "better", "smarter", "reliable". Well, that all went to shit, now didn't it? Here he was, the supposed older twin, stuck within his own mind while his doll of a body carried out the orders of a tyrant- Master as his alternate called him- and pulled the needles. He's destined for trouble, for destruction.

That doll is incapable of feeling, they say. He'll strike down a child without a second thought, they scream. The very definition of a demon, they cry.

And to honest, it's all true in a way but he'll keep denying it until he's six feet under, as long as he keeps his pride. It's all he has in this limbo, in his now circuitry-based conscience, filled with wires and chips and AIs and whatnot. He doesn't know what they are, what all of them mean and what they do but it doesn't matter. It never did. Not since he threw his life away instead of staying close to those he had left.

Thinking back on it, revenge seems like a stupid way to go after something, even if that something is the death of a loved one. He was ten then, and will forever be so, trapped in a body with robotic limbs and a blood red eye that would ultimately kill him if asked to get removed. Of course, he wouldn't- couldn't- do that even if he wanted to. He's bound by a leash and follows his master around like a worthless mutt, forever loyal, forever foolish.

Then there's that boy, the boy that seems so familiar but he can't understand why. Maybe it's the shirt pattern, the pattern that's almost identical to the one in his drawer. Maybe it's the timid, yet prideful voice that hides his true fears. Maybe…

Maybe it's those tears, those crystalline tears he saw when he looked back after pulling the needle, the tears that admitted defeat and mourned for an unknown cause. That day was the day that he realized he was human, he would always be human, mechanic limbs and blood red eye be damned.

That was the day he _felt_. And those feelings he felt, watching the boy struggle to stay awake, his eyes filled to the brim with shed and unshed tears alike, were irreplaceable.

Pity was what he felt, but not only for that boy and his friends. Not only for himself. Not only for that old man he called his master.

But for those in despair, for those he had killed and the lives they had ruined. That boy, that pitiful blond boy in the striped shirt who had lost everything, the tyrant who had nowhere to go, and himself.

They were truly lost in their own despair and madness, but him most of all.

That boy was the craziest of them all, the madness in his eyes as clear as day.

He was useless and unwanted by those that used to accept him, but he didn't care.

He had found that one person that could accept him with all his faults, with all his mechanic limbs and automated brain and blood red eye. Chimera be damned.

And it hurt to know that he was his enemy. It really, truly did.


End file.
